


The Bottle

by goddessofcruelty



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Drunk Sex, Hate Sex, M/M, Masturbation, Public Sex, Spoilers, Unhappy Ending, mentions of past Chris/Derek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-18
Updated: 2014-03-18
Packaged: 2018-01-16 05:18:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1333477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goddessofcruelty/pseuds/goddessofcruelty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter doesn't move. “I know what it's like to lose everyone you love.”</p><p>His rage spikes so fast, all Chris can see is red for a moment. “If you don't get the fuck out of here right now, the next funeral I'll be attending is yours.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Bottle

Peter shows up at Allison's funeral.

He can't even believe it when he looks over the crowd gathering and sees the undead wolf. There's a half-second where their eyes meet, and then Chris is stalking through the crowd.

“You need to leave. Now.”

Peter looks unsurprised and unruffled, the bastard.

“Argent, I-”

But no, Chris isn't going to let him finish.

“Why are you even here, Allison _hated_ you.” He scrubbed a hand through his hair. “No, I don't care. Just go.”

Peter doesn't move.

“I know what it's like to lose everyone you love.”

His rage spikes so fast, all Chris can see is red for a moment.

“If you don't get the fuck out of here right now, the next funeral I'll be attending is yours.”

Chris is distracted by the arrival of yet another unwanted guest, Gerard's voice calling out his name across the gathering. By the time he turns back, Peter is gone.

-

The next time he sees Peter, he's polishing off the end of a week-long string of whiskey bottles. Chris is sitting on the back porch for some reason, can't even recall how he got there.

Peter simply appears out of nowhere.

Chris throws the bottle at him after draining the last few drops.

“You get the _fuck_ off my property before I fill you with so much wolfsbane they won't recognize your face.” He's not sure the threat made much sense, but it got the point across well enough.

Peter, _naturally_ , saunters closer.

“You're not going to shoot me, Argent.”

In answer, Chris lifts his pistol and shoots right at Peter's face.

It would have been a beautiful moment, if the gun hadn't been loaded with normal bullets.

And if Chris wasn't so drunk that it thunked into a tree yards from where Peter was lurking.

Peter's only reaction is to slowly arch an eyebrow.

“I stand corrected.”

The jackass comes even closer. “However I think you'd feel better if you used your hands.”

Chris knows that Peter's manipulating him. That's the only thing Peter ever does. He just can't fathom, in his whiskey-soaked brain, how the invitation benefits Peter.

“Why?” He asks with a frown, reaching out to shove Peter's shoulder, part of his mind suddenly wondering when he got up from his chair and came down the porch steps.

Peter's reply is a hissed whisper. “Because with me you can lose control.”

Chris shoved him again, the werewolf not budging in the slightest.

“Should be you! _You_ killed my sister, _your_ beta poisoned my father, and where the _fuck_ were you when everyone was trying to save Lydia? You should have _been_ there, fighting the nogit- nog- the damned demon. _You should have been there_.”

Peter's eyes seem oddly soft.

“ **You** should have been there, Chris. Where were _you_?”

It's that last that releases the rage and self-loathing, because that's the thing Chris hears over and over in his head, in his little girl's voice.

_Where were you, Daddy?_

Before he knows it, he has Peter Hale down on the ground, muscular body crushed into the muddy lawn.

He's just pummeling the fuck out of him, holding back none of his strength and his fury, raining blows down onto the werewolf. Blood flies, coating his fists, but he doesn't stop until he no longer has the strength to lift his arms.

Chris slumps to his knees, burying his face in his blood covered hands, as the dam bursts, sobbing out all his grief.

When he lifts his head, he is alone.

-

Three days later his phone buzzes. Chris doesn't recognize the number.

_I was watching you. And Derek._

He throws the phone across the room and dives back into the bottle.

-

He's tangling with a feral omega when a wolf comes out of a thicket, red eyes flashing as it roars the loner into submission.

He knew it was Peter before the man melted into his human form, all except for the razor sharp claws he used to slice the omega's neck.

“You shouldn't hunt drunk.”

The tone was judgmental and disapproving, and this coming from a naked man covered in blood who was practically the king of bad life choices made Chris laugh, a short bitter one that didn't express much amusement with the situation at all.

“Does Derek know you're an alpha again?”

“Did Allison know you were fucking Derek?”

Chris set his jaw. The wolf had him there.

They were two very alone people who had needed a distraction with all the insanity going on. It wasn't even enough of a thing to call it an arrangement.

But when Derek had called for his help, Chris had gone. Had helped Derek save the murder twins, and thus was not there to save his own daughter.

“Fuck you, Hale.”

Peter smirked, a dark gleam in his eye. “You're a bit too drunk for that, don't you think?”

Before he knew what he was doing, Chris was slamming Peter's naked backside into a nearby tree, crushing his mouth onto the werewolf's with bruising force. One hand grabbing hold of Peter's artfully mussed hair, he jerked it to the side, exposing the younger man's neck. With a growl, Chris bit down hard enough to draw blood, Peter's body jerking beneath him at the sudden blossoming of pain.

Chris wedged a booted foot between Peter's bare ones, pressing his thigh between the werewolf's legs.

Peter was already hard.

Chris moved his jean-covered thigh against Peter for a moment before stepping back and fumbling with his zipper. After a moment, Peter reached out and assisted, hand wrapping around Chris' length as it was freed, the other tugging him closer.

“Argent..”

“Shut the _fuck_ up, Hale.”

Chris smacked Peter's hands away, grabbing both wrists and lifting them above the wolf's head. He shoved his body flush against Peter's once more, not caring about the scrape of bark along the werewolf's unprotected back. One hand wrapped around Peter's cock, jerking it with a harsh rhythm that would have hurt a human.

It worked for Peter.

Chris stepped to the side slightly at the hitch in the werewolf's breathing that signaled his end, and watched as the fluids spurted out over his hand, and down to the forest floor.

Shifting, Chris brought his hand back to his own aching cock, now slick from Peter, and quickly brought himself to orgasm, directing his come to splash all over the naked torso of the recovering wolf.

Without another word, Chris zipped up and left.

-

After that Chris stops drinking.

Peter doesn't come back.

**Author's Note:**

> Inspiration: Hate Me by Blue October
> 
> Please let me know if I need to tag anything else. <3
> 
> [Tumblr](http://goddessofcruelty.tumblr.com/)


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